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The light looks different this time of year. Shafts of gold pierce trees

transient, darkening. The earth goes to bed a little earlier each night

because she knows she’s getting older, fighting gravity, remembering carefree green and dancing in the rain, remembering emotional thunder and flashing lightning.

But now, she’s only wiser and knows sleep makes all things rested, beautiful.

And tomorrow she’ll wake early, dress in fire-red and bands of gold because she can with no one left to impress and never more alive.


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